


last night i saw my world explode

by towokuwusatsuwu



Category: Crows Zero (Movies)
Genre: Awkward Dates, Dresses, Epic Friendship, Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Self-Acceptance, Tokio is trans it's canon i saw the movies, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 19:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15250887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: tamao dabbles in a new fashion choice and genji tries very hard not to die in the process. tamao looks great in everything and genji has never been less prepared in his life.





	last night i saw my world explode

The thrift store entrance is down an alley and through a curtain, the least inviting visage possible but it gets the job done and keeps most people away. Tamao prefers that, the quiet and the solitude, the lack of eyes on him while he peruses the racks, scanning the fabric over while keeping an eye out for anything that might appeal to him. He likes a certain style, slouchier and softer than most; he hasn’t missed the way his friends whisper words like  _ hobo _ behind his back but he doesn’t so much mind because it’s not inaccurate. It’s just what he happens to like and what works for him the most.   
  
A lack of customers gives him another bonus; when he inevitably drifts toward one of the racks in the corner, there is no one there to give him a look for it, ask him if he might be shopping for someone else. This afternoon, only the clerk is here; a bored college student, her hair left loose and flowing around her shoulders, eyes focused on the textbook in front of her while she makes notes on a pad at her elbow. Tamao could walk out with half of the shop in his pocket and he doubts she would even notice, but he likes it that way. It gives him a certain anonymity and it isn’t like he has that anywhere else.   
  
Everyone around here knows his name, after all.   
  
And this isn’t something he can admit to the others, at least not yet while the question is still lingering in his mind, the temptation too strong but not yet given into. He eyes the clerk for a moment just the same before stretching out a hand, fingers ghosting over soft worn material. The fabric is worn thin just like he likes it, the fabric a dark, dark blue closer to purple than black and he can tell without having to take it off of the hanger that it would be lighter than air especially during the summer months when the humidity sticks like a second, irritable skin. Thin straps keep it balanced on the hanger and soft white petals decorate the purple.   
  
Tamao glances up once more before turning his attention back to the rack, to the  _ dress, _ to that itching desire beneath his skin to just take it off to the room at the back of the store so he can try it on. No one has to know but him, right? He doesn’t even have to buy it if he doesn’t like it, doesn’t even have to step out of the dressing room because the mirror in the small space will tell him everything he needs to know. And if he does buy it, well, who has to know?

_ Why does it bother me so much? If I’m not afraid to fight, I shouldn’t be afraid of this, either. _

This decides him. Tamao picks the hanger off the rack and takes it to the dressing room without a moment more of hesitation, shouldering his way inside and locking the door tight behind him. The “dressing room” is really nothing more than a small closet space with a light and a mirror, a few hooks crudely screwed into the old wood to hang clothing on. Tamao sets the dress on one of those hooks carefully before shrugging out of his jacket and starting on the buttons on his shirt. He just has to try it on and no one else has to know about it.

His jacket and shirt go hung up on one of the other hooks and he hesitates on his jeans before shoving them down, kicking them aside into a pile in the corner to retrieve later. Again, he checks to make sure he really did lock the door before he turns his attention to the dress. He’d long since outgrown anxiety before a proper fight, even the battle royales that Takiya Genji’s appearance at Suzuran brought on, but it returns full-force now for some reason.

It’s just a dress, and no one else has to know. He’s been thinking about this for weeks and he’s seen this dress more than once in his ventures here, always seized with the desire to try it on. Every time he thinks about it, he wonders what it means about him that he wants to, or if it means anything at all. Tokio might be able to answer the question but Tamao hardly wants to levy such questions at him when he has issues of his own to deal with.

So he pulls the dress off the hanger and over his own head to answer his question for himself.

The fabric is as light and breathable as he thought it would be, falling around him so lightly it almost feels like there’s nothing there at all. The only reminder that there  _ is _ something is that the dress fits across the best, the straps settling on his shoulders. Nothing is too tight and he doesn’t have to adjust the fabric once he has it where it’s supposed to go. It almost feels  _ perfect _ but Tamao would never believe in such things even if they were true.

It takes an incredible amount of effort for him to turn to face the mirror, hands moving up toward his hair, tugging the elastic band out of it. He yanks a few knots loose combing his fingers through the strands to settle it around his face before he lets himself look in the mirror.

The image is jarring. Tamao knows very little about fashion— he knows what fits him and what he likes but he’s certain no one would ever assume he knew what he was doing in the process— so he can’t say anything more than that he likes the dress, the shape of it on him, the color, the pattern. It appeals to him the way the rest of his clothing does and he breathes a sigh of relief, a little of the weight slipping from his shoulders.

It’s just a dress. It’s just clothing. And it looks good on him, or, at least, it looks good  _ to _ him and that’s all that’s ever mattered when it comes to what clothes Tamao picks to wear.

As soon as he changes back into his proper clothing, he buys the dress at the counter and leaves with it. The clerk doesn’t even blink twice as he hands her the money.

* * *

Takiya Genji wastes time with the rest of their group while he waits for Tamao to show up, nervously dragging his feet across the pavement as he listens to Izaki and Tokaji snark back and forth at each other, overly fond notes in their voices. Tokio is stretched across the couch, shaking his head at the pair of them, occasionally catching Genji’s eye to tip him a wink or a smile, a small in-joke between the two of them.

Makise tells Shoji some ridiculous story about a cute girl he met while Shoji raises an eyebrow at him, clearly not believing a word he says. The Mikami brothers whisper amongst each other, half-sentences here and there, not needing to finish because they seem to just know what the other is thinking. Chuta looks done with the lot of them, threatening to doze off in his seated position at any moment while Hiromi lounges on the fringe of their little group, his eyes straying to Izaki over and over, a silent plea for Izaki to look at him.

This is home. Genji has his own home of course, with his father and expectations and his future set in stone, but he also has this, and these people that went to war with him over and over again, bloodying themselves to win Suzuran, to protect Suzuran. The only person missing that would complete this picture is Tamao, but he’s on the way. Genji promised to take him somewhere to day, somewhere on a date though he nearly swallowed his own tongue trying to make the simple request. This is not a fight; this is new to him.

Tokio kicks out lazily in his direction and Genji side steps, frowning down at him while Tokio just flashes him an incorrigible smile. “You nervous? You look like you are.”

“No.” It’s a lie and Tokio knows it from the way his smile widens, but Genji doesn’t care; he just scuffs his shoe against the ground a little harder. “He should be here soon, right?”

“Tamao wouldn’t leave you hanging,” Tokio confirms.

Genji nods and settles down on the arm of the couch to wait, telling himself not to be so tense or worried about the situation just because the two of them will finally be alone. It was a foregone conclusion the two of them would get together, he thinks. The camaraderie they developed in the battle with Housen was bound to lead somewhere and Genji was hardly going to turn Tamao down when Tamao made the blithe suggestion maybe they should get together.

He might have meant it as a joke or a one-off but Genji had taken the opportunity to kiss him.

The sound of footsteps has him standing up just the same, turning toward the sound just before the door slides open. No one else seems to notice at first, else he’s sure they would have some reaction to share, but Genji’s jaw slackens and his face burns, an intense heat.

Tamao is wearing a dress.

“See, there’s your bo— Whoa.” Tokio sits up on the couch, eyebrows raised. “Uh. Hey, Tamao.”

As far as Genji knows, Tamao has never worn a dress before and though Genji knows little about clothes— he wears blacks and grays, t-shirts and pants and occasional chains for accessories, keeping black elastic bands around his wrist if he one in his hair breaks— he thinks the dress looks nice on Tamao. Loose, flowing, a dark color but a pattern that’s reminiscent of his many button-ups. It stops around his knees, though, and Genji squirms a bit.

“Hey.” Tamao shuts the door behind him, letting it bang on the frame just a bit. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Holy shit.” Izaki twists around to look at Tamao properly, a quick up-down before he rubs a hand over the lower half of his face. “Didn’t realize you were into dresses, Tamao.”

Tamao shrugs a shoulder and Genji’s throat clicks; his shoulders are almost entirely bare except for skinny straps. “Just this one so far. Thought it suited me, I guess.”

“Well… It does look nice. Like something you’d normally wear.” Tokaji nods to himself.

“Is it just a dress? Just a change of style?” Tokio’s voice is low and careful, an eyebrow darting up, and Genji’s head jerks toward Tamao at the implication.

Tamao rolls his eyes. “Dunno, I guess. I don’t think I care if I’m being honest, if that’s even an option? Man, you know I don’t know anything about this like you do. I just like the way it looks and I don’t really care about anything else.”

“You can just not care,” Tokio confirms with a small, warm smile.

Genji shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants, telling himself to relax. It’s just a dress, right? “You weren’t that late. Uh, you look really nice though. It looks great on you.”

“You think so?” Tamao gathers a handful of the skirt in hand and stretches it out just a little, and Genji bites his lip when the very bottom of the skirt edges up just an inch or two. It’s not lewd, or even inappropriate, but Genji is an idiot. “Guess that’s good. You ready to go?”

“Yeah.” If Genji’s throat is a little tight and his mouth a little dry, so be it. “I’m ready.”

Tokio smirks at him on his way out and Genji flips him off behind his back, the other hand already settled firmly in Tamao’s.

* * *

By the end of the night they end up sitting beside the river, Genji throwing his jacket on the ground for Tamao so he doesn’t have to sit on the dress even though Tamao shoots him a look for doing it. He sits on it anyway and Genji drops down next to him, pointedly not looking at the way Tamao has to tug the skirt back into place. It rides up when he sits down and Genji has spent the better part of the evening dying because of it.

“You’ve got something to say,” Tamao muses.

Genji shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

“But you do. I’m not stupid, you know.” Tamao elbows him in the ribs hard enough that Genji flinches, rubbing the sore spot and frowning at him. “Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

“It’s just… A nice dress. I mean…” Genji shakes his head, not sure he can admit just yet that he likes being able to look at Tamao’s legs in the skirt or that he’s maybe gotten a little rush from walking around with his arm draped around Tamao’s bare shoulders. It’s hard to talk about and he’s not ready just yet. “You look really nice in it. I’m glad you wore it.”

Tamao huffs at him. “Sap. But thanks. I wasn’t even sure… I mean, I  _ wanted _ to wear it when I first saw it but it took a while for me to suck it up and buy it.”

Genji cocks his head. “How long?”

“Weeks. I dunno, I just… You’ve probably never had to deal with something like that so I don’t think I could explain it. Tokio’s better at stuff like that.” Tamao shoves his hand into Genji’s pocket without asking, pulling out the cigarettes and lighter he asked Genji to carry for him considering the dress doesn’t have pockets  _ yet. _ “Worried about what people might say.”

The words make Genji’s heart hurt and he whines softly, bumping his head against Tamao’s. “We could’ve just kicked the asses of anyone who said anything to you.”

“Nah, I know. Doesn’t make it easier, though, if you know what I mean.” Tamao lights himself a cigarette and exhales soft blue smoke into the air, tucking himself up against Genji’s side. “But still, took me a while. Shouldn’t have, but it did. But, uh, thanks for being supportive.”

“Gotta be a good boyfriend for you, right? Make it worth it and whatever.” Genji’s face burns at the words and he scoffs at himself, dragging a shoe along the ground.

Tamao grabs for his hand again, lacing their fingers together to squeeze so much it almost hurts and Genji winces at him. “Don’t, okay? Don’t think you have to do anything because, like, you’re already really good at this whole thing. Not that I have the experience but— But you’re a good boyfriend just the way you are. At least you make me happy, and that’s what matters.”

“Oh. Okay.” Genji scrubs a hand over his face, trying to chase away the burn in his skin with his fingers even though this hardly works. “Uh, you’re good at this, too. At least I’m happy.”

“Idiot.” Tamao’s voice is fond, though, and he squeezes Genji’s hand again.

He shares the cigarette. They pass it back and forth until nothing is left but the butt and Tamao flicks it in the general direction of the river before slipping both arms around Genji’s one, leaning heavily on him. This is nice, the peace and quiet, a break from the constant battling and bloodshed that comes with standing at the top of Suzuran. There are always challengers until they graduate and then who knows what comes next? But for now they have each other and Genji lets his cheek come to rest against the top of Tamao’s head.

“C’mere.” Tamao twists around and fists a hand in Genji’s hair, pulling his head down.

The height difference is easily countered like this, Tamao pulling Genji down to his level so he can kiss him properly. Genji goes with it, half-leaning over Tamao when he momentarily loses his balance, hands sinking down into the fabric of his own jacket. He gets a little adventurous just this once, because he can, because Tamao thinks he’s good at being a boyfriend; his lets his hand steal up to fit against Tamao’s waist, nothing between skin except the thin fabric. And then Tamao falls back and pulls Genji down on top of him.

He doesn’t have to look down to know the skirt has ridden up again, can tell by the way Tamao throws a leg around his waist to keep him in place. Not that he would go anywhere. There’s no better place in the world than here with Tamao, kissing him so hard that his mouth hurts and he’s starting to wonder if he can suffocate from this alone.

Eventually, Tamao gets tired of the extra weight on him and breaks the kiss, slaps at Genji’s shoulder. “Get off of me. You’re too heavy.”

Genji pouts at him but pecks him on the lips and sits up— and promptly whips his head around as far as he can when he realizes the dress has ridden up almost all the way, his face hotter than the surface of the sun.

Tamao sets the skirt right and sits up, lightly punching Genji’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s late and I’m tired. Walk me home like a gentleman is supposed to.”

“Am I a gentleman now?” Genji asks.

“Dunno.” Tamao flashes him a smile as he stands, pitching Genji’s jacket in his face. “Are you?”

Genji walks him home. They hold hands on the way here and Tamao leans against him more than usual, probably indicative of just how tired he really is. He kisses Tamao goodbye at the door, a hand at his waist and another on his bare shoulder, and he thinks he could get used to the dresses if Tamao wants to buy more. It might not be so bad even if it kills him in the process.

Tamao bites his lip when he goes to lean back. “Thanks, Genji. For… Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Genji kisses him once more. “All right, so… G’night.”

“Night.” Tamao winks at him, then disappears inside.

Genji’s heart is in his throat the entire way home.


End file.
